10 Things To Do Before I Die Part 12

I'm about to start sniffling again. I'm about to break down and bawl like I did on the subway home from Billy Rifkin's. I stare up at Frankie's beefy red face-it has to be Frankie because he mentioned Lou-and I Want to throw my arms around him. (On second thought, I don't Want to do that.) But I Want to hug somebody. I Want to hug his sister. Because during his semi-coherent monologue, I ran the entire emotional gamut: from fear, to guilt, to shock, to understanding, to happiness, to more guilt, then to more ... . and finally I Wound up With remorse.

I do love Rachel Klein.

What's not to love? In no particular order: She respects my opinion.

She respects it so much that she Wanted to see Shakes the Clown herself.

She bought me a ticket to see it With her. She Wanted to surprise me. Me! The guy Who runs away! The guy Who blows stuff off!

She knows me. She knew I'd be overjoyed With her offer to take me to this show. She's Warm and generous and caring and beautiful and- Here she comes.

Well Done.

"See?" Lou drags her out of the crowd by the entrance and shoves her toward me. Her sandals crunch on broken gla.s.s. "I told you he Was here."

Rachel freezes. "Ted?" she cries.

"Uh, that's the name they gave me," I say, With horrible bad-clown timing.

She gapes at me in the heinous fluorescent Bronx streetlight. I can't get a bead on What she's feeling. Is she suspicious? Relieved? Still p.i.s.sed? Strange: even as my brain squirms, I find myself glancing back toward the ticket window, Where Nikki has been out of sight for some time. There isn't really a line; it's more of an unruly mob. Even so, I'm sure that Nikki has managed to buy us tickets by now. She'll probably return at any second. At Which point I'll be forced to admit to Rachel that I came to the Onyx With Nikki, alone-just the two of us-to see my favorite band.

"What are you doing here?" she finally asks.

"I came With Mark," I lie, Without a moment's hesitation.

"Oh," she says.

I start feeling sick. What the h.e.l.l Was that? Actually, I know the answer to this moronic rhetorical question, too. I Was looking to stall her. Of course I Was. I still am. I'm looking for anything to postpone having to tell Rachel the truth. And until the very moment Nikki appears With the tickets, I'll have bought myself some time. I'll have survived a few more seconds Without making Rachel miserable. It Was just a basic animal instinct, the instinct for survival and protection. A reflex. Like throwing up When you're nauseated- Uh-oh.

I throw up, With sudden violence.

"DUUUUUDE!" the twins cry in disgust. They back off toward the club.

A couple of people snicker.

"Shuddup!" Lou and Frankie bark at them.

"Ted?" Rachel says, very gently. She Wraps her arm around me and bends down. Her eyebrows meet in a soft arc. "Look. I know I asked you this earlier, but have you been drinking?"

"Yeah," I confess. At this point I'm too miserable to lie anymore.

"When did you start?"

"I started at my apartment. But listen." I take a deep breath and stand up straight. Amazingly, I feel much better. I've also avoided ruining my s.h.i.+rt this time. I run a hand through my damp curls. I steady myself enough to explain What's really going on, to be honest, and to tell her that getting drunk earlier has nothing to do With this. "I've been meaning to tell you something. This afternoon I Was-"

"Please don't tell me that you've come down With some Weird sickness, Ted," Rachel pleads. "I forgive you, okay? And I'm sorry I hung up on you earlier. But please don't lie to me. Please don't make up any more BS about how some friend of your parents' came to check up on you and she gave you a two-hundred-dollar donation to Amnesty International... ."

Wait-that's right. I have proof of my innocence. My face lights up With the same joy that Dad's did When he first told me about the Napkin. "No, no, Rachel, look," I protest. I jam my fist into my pocket and yank out the crumpled check. The spring break/death mission/ten things list pops out With it, fluttering to the sidewalk. But I don't care. In sniveling fas.h.i.+on, all I care about is the immediate moment. About exonerating myself. "See? I Wasn't making that up."

Rachel steps forward. She plucks the check from my hand With her heavily calloused, gardening-scarred fingers. Her eyes Widen.

"Oh my G.o.d," she breathes.

I resist the urge to pump my fist in the air. Yes! Victory! Everything's coming up Burger! I s.n.a.t.c.h up the list and stuff it back into my pocket. My head spins With the bending over. I should probably avoid doing that again.

"What's that?" Rachel asks.

"What's What?"

"That thing you just picked up. That napkin."

"Oh. It's nothing."

"It looks like something Was Written on it."

"Yeah, you know-just ... stuff." I shrug and smile, blus.h.i.+ng. I Wanted to tell her about the poisoning, but now I can't. There's no telling how she Would react if she saw that list in all its madness. I Would have to explain Why I'm not in the hospital. I Would have to explain Why I'm here With Nikki. I Would have to tell more lies... .

But she just smiles back. Incredible. She's in such a forgiving mood, she decides not to be nosy. "Look, Ted, I don't Want to sound like a nag or your mother or anything, but don't you think you should go home and get into bed? It probably Wasn't such a great idea to drink When you Weren't feeling Well, you know? I'll call you a cab right now." She reaches into her sweater for her cell phone. "Where's Mark, by the-"

"Getting the tickets!" I interrupt.

I scan the crowd near the ticket window. (Still no sign of Nikki.) I scan the twins. (Nothing there, no hint of any emotion or comprehension Whatsoever.) Then I scan Rachel. (Sadness and sympathy.) I make the loop again. A third time. Crowd, twins, Rachel; crowd, twins, Rachel; crowd ... That brief, euphoric exultation vanishes. Despair replaces it. I've Woven a very tenuous Web of deceit for myself, and now it's on the verge of unraveling.

Well done, Ted, I congratulate myself grimly. Very Well done.

"Ted?"

"Yes?"

Rachel looks at me. And then she does something that should make me feel extremely relieved but doesn't. It makes me feel about as bad as I've felt since this Whole ordeal started.

She sweeps me into her arms for a hug.

Guilt by Self-a.s.sociation.

"I know how excited you are to see this show," she murmurs into my ear. "And I'm sorry. But I really think it's best if you go home."

"Rachel?"

"Yeah?"

"We need to talk." I step away from her and take her lumberjack hand. I can tell she sees an uncharacteristic sobriety in my bloodshot eyes. She senses that What I'm about to say is important. And she's right because even though I don't know What I'm about to say-not Word for Word-I've just had a minor revelation. I've just gone from loving her more than I ever have, to ... Well, to still loving her, in a Way. Except now I know What I have to do. I have to make another speech. A tough one, along the same lines of the speech I made on the subway. It's been building. It Was building even before I discovered I Was poisoned. The hug triggered it, though. That hug Was the final blow.

"What's up, Ted? What is it?"

My fingers intertwine With hers.

"Come With me," I say. I lead her away from the crowd, away from the offensive glare of the streetlamp, away from Lou and Frankie (and Nikki, too)-around the corner to a deserted side street, littered With blown-out tires.

"I ..." I search for a delicate phrase. "I don't like feeling guilty all the time."

She laughs uncomfortably. "What do you mean?"

"You make me feel guilty."

"I do?" Her lips quake. Her forehead Wrinkles. She Wraps her arms tightly around herself. Her oversized Wool sweater sleeves hang limply over her hard little fingers. She stares down at her sandals.

Way to go, Ted, I tell myself angrily. Now she's hurt. Why did I say that? It Wasn't just blunt; it Was cruel. I Wanted to spare her feelings. But given that outburst of stupidity, sparing her feelings probably Won't be an option now. My guilty conscience is my problem, not hers.

"What are you trying to tell me, Ted?" she Whispers, glancing up again.

"I don't know. I'm sorry, Rachel. But really, What do you get out of this?"

"What do I get out of What? Ted, you're not making any sense. I'm Worried about you."

"I know you are," I say. It's crazy: as We both stand here in this G.o.dforsaken Wasteland, I start trying to dream up Ways of tricking her into getting mad at me-so she'll take the initiative to break up With me tonight, so I Won't have to feel guilty about not Wanting to spend the last few hours of my life With her. Which, of course, just makes me feel guiltier. What could I possibly say or do to make her mad at me? Tell her that I lied to her? Tell her that I came here With Nikki, alone?

"Ted, I'm calling a car service for you," she says. She flips open her celly. "You Won't even have to pay for it. My parents have an account at Tribeca Limos. It'll be here in a half hour, tops. You can go home, and rest, and Wake up early, okay?"

She punches a few b.u.t.tons and cradles the phone against her ear.

This is it. This is the time to do it. I have to swallow my fear. I can't afford to blow things off anymore. It's better for Rachel in the long run. It'll spare her- "Yeah, hi!" Rachel says. She s.h.i.+fts on her feet, smiling absently at a nearby pile of tires. "Account number two-three-eight-nine? Yes. Klein." She pauses. "I'll need a car to pick up one pa.s.senger at the Onyx in the Bronx. Brooks Avenue and 151st Street." She flashes me a quick grin and nods. "Car four-ten? Great! No, not cash. Voucher. The pa.s.senger's name is Burger. Ted Burger. Right. He's going to Barrow Street in Manhattan. Thanks!" She snaps the phone shut. "So, Ted ..."

Before she can say another Word, I turn and bolt.

A Really Huge Favor.

The sidewalk veers sharply down to the left as I hurry back around the corner toward the club entrance. But I've grown accustomed to such hallucinations. I can compensate by leaning in the opposite direction. Good for me.

I'm a real champ.

This is it. I've sunk far below sniveling cowardice. There's no term for What I just pulled back there. It Wasn't just "escape." It Wasn't just my usual MO. It ... Christ. Forget it. I can't think about it anymore. It'll ruin my last twenty poisoned hours on earth. Which deserve to be ruined. I Will say this: I definitely have embraced the Dark Side. Well ... maybe not so much Dark as Slimy, Cruel, Selfish, and Shallow.

The crowd outside the Onyx has grown exponentially, like a virus, just during that brief minute or so. It fuels my depression, in a Way. It tells me that Shakes the Clown is no longer strictly underground. They've moved up. They're trendy now. I doubt all these people really love them. Not the Way I do. I have the bootlegs to prove the love, going all the Way back. But I can't think about that now, either. No, I need to focus on putting as much distance as possible between me and Rachel Klein and, by extension, between me and Lou and Frankie Klein as Well.

Thankfully, the twins are nowhere to be seen.

I squirm into a ma.s.s of bodies. I also try my best not to anger anybody. It doesn't Work. Under normal circ.u.mstances I can be invisible but not here: I'm sweaty and stinky and I'm the only one Who doesn't have a tattooed neck or pierced eyelid. I catch a few elbows, some glares, snippets of threats, a gathering storm of outlaw viciousness directed solely at me. But I console myself once more With the knowledge that if I'm beaten to a b.l.o.o.d.y pulp, I'll have escaped. I'll have escaped it all.

"Burger!"

Oh G.o.d, no.

"Burger! BURGER, dude!"

The color drains from my face. If Mark is here, it's only a matter of time before he draws attention to me and Rachel finds me, too, and the truth gets spilled... . How did he get here so fast? I squeeze my eyes shut in a last-ditch effort to flee reality. But there is no fleeing. When I open my eyes back up, Mark is standing right in front of me. He's also as Wild-eyed and sweaty as ever. His GIVE THIS DAWG A BONE T-s.h.i.+rt is practically soaked through.

"What's up?" he says, gasping for breath. "Where's Nikki?"

"She ... uh-she Went to get tickets." I swallow, glancing over both shoulders. A couple of people jostle him. He doesn't bat an eyelash. "It's a pretty crazy scene here, huh? You know, it cost me thirty bucks to get here by cab."

"Me too. So What happened With Joy?"

"She split maybe ten minutes after you guys did. It Was tough getting her out of the apartment, but I forced the issue. I cleaned up a little bit, too." He starts grinning. "Well, not so much. But a little bit."

"Oh." I chew my lip. "Listen, Mark, I need you to do me a really huge favor."

He laughs. "I just spent four hundred bucks to get you laid. That doesn't cut it?"

"I'm serious!"

"Okay, okay. Hey, look, I'm sorry if I b.u.mmed you out With the hooker thing-"

"It's okay," I interrupt. "But look, I need to split. And I need you to find Rachel. She Was right around the corner the last time I saw her."

"Whoa. Wait. Rachel is here?"

"Yeah." I cast another anxious glance over the crowd. "But When you find her, I need you to tell her that you and I came here together, all right? And that I Wasn't feeling Well so I had to go home. Right away. I couldn't Wait around for her car service. And that even though We Were drinking earlier today, I really am sick. Got it?"

Mark blinks at me a couple of times. "No. I don't *got it.'"

"Just do it."

"Do What? If Rachel is here, Why don't you just talk to her?"

"I tried! But she Wouldn't let me break up With her, all right?"

His eyes start to narrow. "She Wouldn't ... let you?"

"No! She Wouldn't!"